Keeping it Together
by Rachel McN
Summary: Donatello is left to protect his friends and family and draw them back from the grip of death, but death doesn't like to leave empty-handed.
1. Loss

_**Beep Beep**_

_**Beep Beep**_

Donatello jumped at the sound, scrabbling into a standing position from his huddle on the floor

_**Beep Beep**_

Groaning and trying to wipe the sleep from his eyes, he staggered over to the sound

_**Beep Beep**_

_A flash of fire, screaming, dust, smoke… _Gasping, he shook the image from his mind. His family needed him. Raphael was lying still on the bed; it was his machine that had warned Donatello of his brother's dropping heart rate.

_**Beep Beep**_

His whole family were here, unconscious in one form or another. His eyes roved over them, quickly checking the machines that recorded their vitals. He could check them properly after he had made sure Raph was still breathing and his heart still supported him.

_**Beep Beep **_

He worked quickly knowing that in the condition they were in, every minute, every second, was a battle with death.

_**Beep B-**_

Satisfying himself that Raph would be ok for another hour or so, he began to check on his other patients. Walking over to April, he again heard Casey's voice in his head

"_No, get her out first, protect her…" _Casey was lying nearby, Don had honored his friend's wish and saved April first from the burning bowels of the building, but had made sure to return. He had not left anyone behind, had refused to.

April's condition was stable, and so he moved on to Mikey. Don had been wrong, Mikey was awake.

He did not know if Mikey could hear or even see anything around him, so he was shocked to say the least when Mikey's eyes flickered up to meet his own. Relief flooded through him, this meant that at least one of his family should pull through.

Don slowly stroked the side of his brother's head. "Mikey?" he enquired gently.

The turtle on the bed groaned and closed his eyes before they flickered open again.

"how do you feel?"

"Urgh…hungry…"

Don stifled a laugh. Yep, that was Mikey, all right. Just as he was about to ask Mikey how he felt excluding his stomach, the warning noise of Leo's machine started up. Don gave his conscious brother a quick reassuring smile before hurrying over to Leo's side. Of all of them, Leo and Casey were in the worst condition – both had tried to protect another.

As Don worked, he realized Leo's warning machine must be faulty. He had programmed the machines to warn of a deterioration in the health of any of his family. The machine did not shut down, until their condition had stabilized. However, the machine seemed to have an echo…

_**BeepBeep BeepBeep**_

No, that wasn't an echo…another machine was warning him that he had to act quickly unless he wanted to lose someone. Spinning quickly, he swore to himself as he realized that Casey also needed his help.

He ran to Casey's side as the warning sound increased, and quickly began to alter the machines attached to his friend. As Casey's heart rate began to pick up again, he could hear the warnings behind him, screaming at him to come and help. Rushing back towards Leo, he continued helping his brother, only to hear the dreaded screaming from Casey's machine…

He could help one of them, but he could not stay with them long enough to make their health stable – not without dooming the other to death. The deadly dance continued, Donatello rushing from Leo to Casey, Friend to Family, for how could he chose between his brother and his best friend?

He knew that there was no way he could keep both of them alive; they were too ill, too weak, and he was only one turtle. Never the less, he continued his mad dash between them both. He couldn't choose. How could he choose?

He didn't need to choose.

Fate chose for him.


	2. The Devouring Flames

As he stared in horror at the body rapidly turning cold before him, he was unable to stop the tears that flowed down his face. Forcing himself to turn away, he worked quickly, and soon the lair was silent.

He was powerless against the sobs that racked his body.

A life had been lost under his care.

He had promised them all that he would save them, had promised them that he would not let them die, any of them. And he had failed.

He had tried to kill his heart, refusing to focus on the grief that overwhelmed him, but now his heart had resurrected itself. Drowning him for the times he had buried it.

Donatello stumbled, collapsing against the wall, he slid down it into a huddle. The tears soaked his skin as they slid through his fingers. He felt unconsciousness claiming him in what he now thought of as one of his _blackout_ spells. The only thing that could wake him during these times was the warning systems he had attached to each of his family and friends. Now there was one less to wake him…

The darkness suffocated him, but he welcomed it, knowing what happened next worse, much worse, than the darkness…

* * *

**

* * *

_The explosion_, he saw it play before his eyes again, as he relived the panic of the moment.

_The smoke was filling his lungs__. H__e couldn't see anyone through the dust and debris. The fire roared in his ears drowning out every sound, even the sound of his own screams, as he shouted for his family. Debris began to cascade down upon him, and he only had seconds to register the collapsing roof before a blur of green hit him, and he was thrown backwards. He landed on his shell, and saw his brother jump over him, protecting him, shielding him, with his own body._

_The rubble from the roof landed on his brothers back, he remembered the scream…_

_The weight was pressing down on his brother, and they both knew it was only a matter of time before the ruined building claimed them both._

"…_Go…" Leo hissed, Don was frozen with fear as he watched his brother struggling to stay upright against the weight, saw Leo's arms trembling with the pressure…_

"_GO!"_

_Don went. He pushed himself backwards, scrabbling with his hands as he found an opening in the pile, trying to widen the hole. As soon as the opening was wide enough, he pulled himself through, coughing as the dust filled his lungs._

_He had hauled himself out, but Leo was still under the rubble. Don quickly begin pulling of broken pieces of the roof, desperately attempting to reach his brother. He realized he was shouting, telling Leo to hold on__.__T__ears stream__ed__ down his face from the stinging smoke, and the fear of losing his brother._

_The debris shook, dust particles falling to the floor, before part of the pile caved in, and Don knew his brother had been unable to fight the pressure and gravity. He increased his efforts, ignoring the burns the flames inflicted on him. He caught sight of his brother's shell, and managed to remove enough of the rubble to pull Leo free._

_He almost choked with relief when he felt his brother's neck and managed to find a pulse. Gathering the unconscious Leo in his arms, he managed to stumble towards the exit, all the while whispering promises that he wouldn't leave him__;__ that it was going to be alright. _

_When he reached the battleshell, he thanked god that they had hidden it behind the wall of another building__.__I__t had survived the blast. Gently laying Leo down, Don found a blanket and wrapped his shaking brother in the warmth. _

_He didn't want to leave Leo in this state, but he had to find the others. Had to know if they were alright, if he could help. He checked his brother's pulse once more before closing the doors of the van, and running back towards the burning building._

_He shouted himself hoarse before hearing a reply. He headed in the direction desperately searching, his eye caught a glimpse of movement__. __H__e dropped to a crouch, pulling of the piece of roof that covered them. April had been knocked out during the fight, and Casey had shielded her from the worst of the explosion. He hadn't been able to move quickly enough to escape the collapsing roof, and Don doubted he would have left April anyway._

_He felt sick as he realized that Casey was still conscious, a length of wood had split from a supporting beam, and buried it__self__ in__to__ his friend's leg. He couldn't even begin to imagine the agony Casey must be __in__. Casey gasped as Don tried to help him._

"_No, get her out first, protect her…"_

_Don winced as he realized that the wood had pierced right through Casey's leg__.__T__he velocity of the wood might even have been enough to severely damage the bone, if it wasn't already broken._

"_April…help April…"_

_The blood loss could kill him, but the wood needed to be removed before it poisoned Casey. Don carefully took a hold of one end__.__T__he flames were creeping closer, and soon the wood would be on fire. He whispered a warning of his intentions to Casey, who nodded and gritted his teeth, forming his hands into white knuckled fists. Don removed the length of wood as quickly as he could and used his belt to wrap the open wound, reducing blood loss as well as he could._

"_Get …get April…get her out…"_

_Don finally agreed to Casey's wishes, gently lifting April out of the rubble. He carried her as gently as he could, as he ran for the van. When he reached the battleshell, he wrapped April in a blanket__. He__ checked her and Leo once more before running back for Casey.

* * *

**

* * *

_

_Three down, three to go._

_The rest of his family were trapped in the building, and he had no idea where. All he knew was that he had to get them out, and he had to do it soon, before it was too late._

_The fire was increasing in strength, claiming what was left of the building to help fuel its greed. Don strained his ears, trying to hear something, anything, over the roaring of the fire, the crackling of the roof… The roof! He threw himself forward, barely avoiding the timber beam that had planned to crush him. He rolled onto his side, panting hard through the suffocating smoke, and felt something soft behind him. He swiftly turned his head and found that Raphael was lying beside him. _

_Scrambling to his feet, he attempted to lift his red-clad brother, but his strength was beginning to desert him. Raphael was limp, which proved removing him from the rubble relatively easy, but caused carrying him to safety to be virtually impossible._

_Don thought that he was already using what few strength reserves he had left, but when the roofing began to collapse around the two turtles, he realised that his arms had been hiding their strength, and desperation allowed him to tap into this hidden aid. _

_A burning beam from the roof above crashed to the ground where Raphael's head had been moments before. On his knees, Donatello managed to sling his brother over his right shoulder, and shakily stumbled to his feet. He staggered a couple of times under the weight of his brother, before steadying himself enough to keep a firm hold of Raph, and manoeuvred his way to the exit.

* * *

**

* * *

_

_Back inside the battleshell, blackness began to cloud his vision. He felt the world spin and tip, throwing him to the ground. He tried to push himself up on his elbows, but his body had had enough. It refused to obey his thoughts and wishes. As his legs buckled under him, he reached up his hand, desperately trying to hold onto something to keep himself steady. His hand brushed an oxygen tank he had stored, and he instinctively grabbed a hold of it._

_His weight pulled it out of its storage compartment, and his hands fumbled for a hold on a shelf below, before it landed on his plastron, driving the breath from him. Gasping and choking, it took him a few seconds to realise what the item __he was holding__ was. As soon as he managed to get his smoke-filled mind around the thought, he reached out, unhooking the mask with a little difficulty and greedily breathing in the oxygen like a drowning man. _

_The oxygen revived him somewhat, and he took a few more deep breaths before once again quickly checking on those he had managed to save so far. He whispered a promise to them that he would help them no matter what, as he made sure that all their pulses were beating at a safe rate. He used the remaining oxygen, hoping it would help them to breathe easier. He would be __of__ no use to them, or indeed to Michaelangelo and Master Splinter, if he collapsed within the burning building. He used a leftover bottle of water to soak his mask and use it as a damp cloth to cover his mouth and make breathing easier. He raged at himself for not thinking clearly about this before now, but if he had, he might not have reached Raph before the fire claimed him. _

_He wouldn't let it take any of them, as long as he lived, he would do whatever it took to protect his family and friends. He would find the two remaining members of his family. They would survive. They __**had**__ to survive.

* * *

**

* * *

_

_Burning cloth. _

_That's what led him to his sensei – his father. The tails of the old rats cloak had begun to burn, and the flame was creeping closer to his fur. He lay on a pile of rubble while the devouring flames surrounded him, creeping closer. _

_A funeral pyre._

_That's what it looked like to Donatello. A funeral pyre. _

_He couldn't reach his father through the towering flames. He __realized__ he was shouting and crying again. He quietly scolded himself. Shouting would not help matters. He had to __**think**__. _

_He spotted a pillar that had not yet succumbed to the flames. It was metal, so it had not burned or yet melted, but it would be scolding to the touch…_

'_Anything' he reminded himself__.__H__e had promised he would do whatever it took to help his family, to save them._

_He quickly removed his elbow and wrist pads, using them to cover one of his feet. His other foot he attempted to cover using his knee and ankle pads. Not the most ideal footwear for walking on scalding metal, but he would take it. As long as he could help save his sensei__,__ he would take anything he could._

_He judged the angle as best as he could through the stinging smoke, then he rammed it. He screamed as the metal blistered his unprotected shoulder, but he refused to give up. He rammed the pole again, hissing in pain as the metal scorched his skin. On his third attack against the metal, the pillar gave in. He yelled as burning wood crashed around him, unable to keep itself up without the aid of the pillar._

_As the dust cleared slightly, Don was able to make out the shape of his father. The metal provided a temporary bridge through the deadly flames. It would not hold out against the flames for too long, but it would be long enough for what he needed to do._

_He leapt onto the fallen pillar, trying to ignore the agony that flared up within him from the unprotected areas of his feet. Reaching Splinter, the first thing he did was to crouch beside his sensei and search for a pulse. _

_The faint flutter under his fingertips was enough to lend him the resolve to run back across the burning metal, this time with his father in his arms. He held his sensei's limp form closely to him, trying to shield the rat from the worst of the flames._

_He ignored the scalded, blistering skin on his feet;__ he limped towards the exit and the cool fresh air that awaited him. He shivered as the cold air hit his blistering skin. He just wanted to collapse and fold himself into the winds cool welcoming arms. But he couldn't. He had to get Master Splinter to safety, and he still had to find Michaelangelo. God, if something had happened to Mikey…_

_He refused to acknowledge his aching limbs, the burns on his body or the way his muscles screamed at him to rest. He still had work to do. Gently laying Splinter next to the rest of his family, he wrapped one of the remaining blankets around his singed fur and whispered a few comforting words before closing the doors to the battleshell.

* * *

**

* * *

_

_The flames jeered at him, the doorway that had formed the entrance had finally given in. He couldn't stand to feel the heat of the taunting flames on his skin. The way the heat dried his tears was unbearable._

'_Mikey…'_

_He couldn't have failed his little brother, no, there had to be another way. Right? _

_But wherever he looked along the length of the building, all he could see was the searing flames of fire, taunting him, jeering at him, laughing at him._

_He found himself thinking of the song Mikey had made him listen to a few days previous._

"The ring of fire…the ring of fire…_"_

_Ring of fire was right, Don felt he knew exactly what the singer had been referring to, and he didn't like it one bit._

_He was desperate, frustrated, and scared for his brother. He wanted to drive the battleshell right through one of the damn fiery walls. But he knew that could cause more harm than good, both to those inside the van and to Mikey. If he didn't succeed in running over his brother, then he would destroy the remaining supports in the building, and end up burying Mikey instead._

'_**Think**__ Don'_

_Spying a length of slender wood nearby, his mind began to form a plan. The wood was shaped closely enough to a bo staff to fit his need. He was about to continue with his plan when realisation grabbed him. He had no idea how he was going to be able to get back out, much less with Mikey – if he could find him. _

_All such thoughts dissipated from his mind, the moment he heard the scream…

* * *

**

* * *

_

_Vaulting the wall of flames with the __make-shift bo staff__, he barely made it over, and ended up with a scorched shell, but that had been the easy part. _

"_Mikey!"_

_He broke into a run towards the area where he had heard the scream come from__.__L__ooking, listening, searching…_

_Another scream pierced the surrounding air. _

_Don willed himself to go faster, he pushed his protesting muscles to breaking point._

"_MIKEY!"_

_Panic was beginning to overwhelm him, and he struggled to keep his mind free of the white haze._

_A scream to his left._

_Quieter this time, but higher in pitch._

_He struggles to pull himself up onto the pile of ash and smouldering wood._

_A whimper._

_Below him._

_He pulls at the wood above the sound, cursing as it resists his efforts._

_A whine._

_He twists the planks free, reaching down towards the trapped, still form._

_Flames around the figure, casting dancing shadows on the plastron._

_A hand twitches._

_His hands scrabble at the suffocating coat of dust._

_Silence from the figure…_

_He wraps his arms under shoulders burnt from the vicious pixie lights._

_The deceptively tame, docile fire roars as he removes its victim._

_The tendrils of flame reach up, fuelled by rage that he has fought the fire and won._

_He tenderly cradles the silent figure, whispering words of comfort to his brother._

_Standing slowly, he eyes the twisting, devouring flames in the pit below._

_In an uncharacteristic bout of fury, he kicks the planks down, towards the twisting light._

_The hungry flames greedily reach up, ready to rip apart this new victim, only to be smothered by the cascade._

_Don turns, whispering promises and reassurances to Mikey__.__H__e walks away, skirting the rest of the fire, keeping as far away from the heat as he can._

_He wants nothing to do with their deadly dances, their fatal hunger, their destructive torturing nature…_


	3. Coping with Death

His bedside alarm rang. Annoyed, he attempted to lift his leaden arm, intent on bashing the source of the noise until the clock surrendered. His arm felt like it had been bashed in by a ton of bricks, then dipped in lava topping. Groaning, he strained to open his eyes, fighting his lids in a battle to force them to obey. He began to think he was waging a war with his resisting, battered body.

Straining his ears, he heard a telltale scuffle near to him. The dark blanket was beginning to cloud his mind again. He struggled against it, trying to cut through the darkness that surrounded him. The darkness was starting to suffocate him; he fought harder, desperately trying to break the black surface, needing to see the light, needing to escape the darkness, needing to breathe…

Faintly, he was aware of the fact that his alarm had stopped ringing, but it no longer mattered to him. He desperately struck out at the dark, vainly trying to rip a hole in the silken layer that covered his mind. He tried to lash out again; he could feel himself slipping away. He heard another movement next to him, and he clung to the sound with everything he had. Finding a gap in the never-ending blanket, he felt relief flood through him. He leapt for the light, struggling through it. He forced himself out of the darkness – only to shrink back into the comforting black as if he'd been stung. The pain had seared through his whole being when he emerged. Through his very bones, and had come at him with claws raised. Shocked, he tried to remember, tried to understand, but nothing surfaced, his mind was beginning to cloud again. He didn't want to leave the safety of this world, but he felt a pressing need to return to that gap through which the light poured. Moving closer to the shimmer of light, he looked through it at the pain which waited to grab him again. He shied away from the sight of its talons; no way was he letting the pain sink those things into him! Carefully he studied the world beyond. The painless darkness continued to swirl around him, but he ignored it. The pain waited for him beyond that gap, but so did something else, someone else…A memory shimmered before him, as tantalizing as the light. Burning, something burning, and cool hands, hands helping him; carrying him. Slowly, he edged closer to the light again, feeling the first burnings of the pain. Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself, and moved into the light, wincing as the pain latched onto him, ripping at him.

* * *

Mikey slowly began to feel the place where he lay. Groggily taking in his surroundings, he strained to work out where he was. Slowly, his memories began to return to him. He studied them, his fear beginning to grow as the memories came quicker, the feelings thicker and stronger.

_Burning, his brother helping him, rescuing him from his own personal hell. _

_The searing pain, watching as Donatello ran between the injured._

_Screaming, twisting in agony._

_Cool, cloaking black darkness._

_Wondering where his sensei had gone, why he could no longer see him lying where he had been before._

_Pain, always pain._

_Feeling the flow of liquids entering his arm__.__ the pain dimming._

_Waking, speaking for the first time in what felt like years._

_His brother__,__ moving away from him__,__desperately__ running. Sirens, deafening to his unprotected ears. One of the sounds growing fainter, fading into silence. Seeing his brother collapse. _

_Unconsciousness creeping up on him, spiriting him away…_

Panting hard, he realized someone was talking to him, whispering soothing words in an attempt to calm him. Dragging himself back to the present with a feeling of terrible foreboding, he moaned as waves of pain once more washed over him.

"Mikey? Mikey, can you hear me…It's going to be ok bro….Mikey? Come on bro, answer me…please…"

He forced his protesting eyes to open, instantly experiencing dizziness from the spinning room. Squeezing his eyes shut, he pleaded with the floor to stop its insane tumble with the ceiling.

"Oh thank god, I thought I'd lost you bro. I won't leave you, I promise."

He realized he was mumbling, and wondered how Don had managed to make sense of his ramblings. Forcing himself to open his eyes again, he was relieved to find the ceiling where it should be. He caught Don's worried gaze, and his brother gave him a sad smile as he continued to soothingly stroke Mikey's arm. He didn't even seem conscious of the movement. As Don turned away, breaking eye contact, Mikey noticed the dried tears that glistened on his cheek. There had always been a comfortable silence that emanated from his peaceful brother, but now something was different. Mikey had a feeling that he would be able to take a bite of the surrounding air and taste the emotions on his tongue. Maybe then he would know what had upset his brother so, 'cause right now, he didn't have a clue.

"Let me just check the others" The words were spoken so quietly, that Mikey barely registered them. Watching as Donatello stood; Mikey's gaze followed his brother around the room. Shifting his head to the side, he found himself looking out of a window. The wooden boards surrounding the glass frame, and the waving trees outside hinted to him his whereabouts. The farmhouse. He wondered why he was here. What was wrong with the lair? Ah well, he was sure his brainy brother had a reason.

Farmhouse Hospital, the emergency room with a view. The swaying trees outside held his fascination. Watching the shifting boughs, he found himself being lulled back to sleep, carried along on the same wind that played with the leaves.

* * *

Returning to Mikey's side, Don observed the quiet rhythmic breathing of his sleeping sibling. How he wished he could sleep as peacefully as that. Silent tears found their way to his eyes, and caused tiny rivulets as they sped down his face. Catching one on his finger, he watched the trembling droplet. He was surprised he had tears left to cry, he'd shed so many.

For now, those remaining were safe, and he would hear them if their condition changed. The area where he needed to go was situated close enough to the farmhouse. Exiting the house, he flowed down the steps like a ghost. Trembling as he approached the area, he watched the flowers bending on their stalks, in time with the music of the wind. Just before the flowerbeds was a small marker. He hadn't had time to make anything too intricate, and he didn't want to risk the remains being discovered and the grave desecrated. Kneeling before the area where he knew him to be buried, he felt the tears increase in volume, but made no move to stop them.

"Sensei," he whispered, running his hand over the soft ground, and feeling the grass blades tickle his numb fingers. "I'm so sorry. So sorry…"

And bowing his head, he felt the memories of that day return.

He had brought them to the farmhouse for several reasons.

One – it was the closest safe place he could think of; where no one would be likely to discover them.

Two – he had made sure to store a number of medical supplies in case of emergencies (he'd never realized just what sort of emergency he'd need them for).

Three – the petrol in the battleshell was running low (he cursed himself at the time, but there was nothing he could do to change it) and any and all communications were non-existent. The shell-cells had all been destroyed in the fire, and the phone company that had connected the farmhouse had gone out of business. In other words, the hospital that he would have taken April and Casey to was out of his reach, and he had no way of contacting anyone for help – the closest house was an hour away and that was when driving.

He'd had no choice but the farmhouse. And now his sensei was buried there. He had no rights to bury his friend; that privilege rested with the family. He would not rob them of that. If it wasn't for him and his family, Casey would still breathe.

Words couldn't describe the utter feelings of loss and devastation he had experienced when his sensei had passed on. Those feelings were revisited when Casey died. And he'd almost lost Leo that day as well.

God, he was the only one who could help them, and he had managed to lose two of the only people he had ever known. An extremely close friend, and his sensei, his master, _his father_. He couldn't believe, still couldn't accept it. _Wouldn't_ accept it.

He found he was rocking, and he was powerless to resist the grief, the sobs that racked his body, his very being. He had tried to lock away the feelings; he had forced himself to harden his heart, refusing to accept the grief when his father died in his arms. He had locked it away, turning from his feelings towards a numb colourless outlook, where the hurt couldn't reach him. Oh god, and today, Mikey, he'd almost lost Mikey today. He hoped he hadn't let on to on his brother how close he'd come, or rather, how distant. But his eyes had probably given him away; he never could control the emotions in his eyes.

Fingering the thin stems before him, he thought again of his sensei. He'd been awake near the end, conscious. Don didn't know how he felt about that. He was thankful for being able to hear his father's voice one last time, thankful for the chance to say goodbye. His brothers hadn't had that chance and wouldn't ever – assuming they survived. He'd held him close as he passed, that was the one thing sensei had asked for. Not for him to save all of them no matter what – probably realizing how slim the chances of that were, not for anything fancy as a memorial – his father had always preferred simplistic objects, not even to be remembered. He had left that option open for his son, in case it hurt too much, in case he preferred to let go and move on. But Don could never forget him, no matter what the final outcome became; he would never be able to forget anyone. He remembered everyone who passed through his life, remembered the good times and the bad, the joyful times and the painful memories. He would carry them all with him until the end, whenever that was. If grief could kill, if someone could die of a broken heart, he expected that time to come soon. But not until he knew the outcome; one way or another. He had to know who lived, and who died. He would hold on until then, and then his heart could finish ripping him apart. Then his grief could finish what it had begun. But only if that wouldn't destroy those left behind.

Maybe Splinter and Casey had been the lucky ones. Maybe the lucky ones passed on, while everyone else was left. Dying had to be less painful than this. He couldn't fathom a pain worse than what he was currently experiencing.

Laying his hand on the soft earth below, his thoughts drifted to his family, the ones still inside, the ones whose hearts still beat. What he wouldn't give to spare them this pain.

During the time he had cared for them, he had discovered the quality in Leo that was so protective. He had realized what his brother felt when he worried continually over their safety, and he wondered how Leo had managed to cope with the feeling. How he wished he could ask him.

He had also discovered the ferociousness of Raph, and had begun to share his feelings to pound on a physical presence. He was not particularly violent, and preferred to solve a problem through words rather then strength, but the one time he felt like beating the enemy to a pulp, the enemy was long gone, and the only threat facing his family was the injuries they had sustained.

The one quality that the experience had not shown to him, was Mikey's ability to find an uplifting emotion in the smallest thing. Shame really, that was the one quality he could have really used. Not that he would have turned away from grieving for those lost, but it would have been good to find a silver lining in the mess that had become his life.

April shouldn't even have been there. She had insisted on coming, and of course, so had Casey. They could have led normal lives, they had no reason that they had to get involved other than the fact that they cared for their strange mutant friends. And thinking of Casey, now cold and still, and April, who lay injured with a gold engagement ring on her finger, which would never lead to a wedding, Don couldn't help but wonder. Had it been worth it? Had they been such good friends that April and Casey would have chosen this over a normal life? If he could go back and meet them again, would he drive them away, warn them of what would happen? It had been so nice to find kind humans, ones who didn't scream at the sight of them. And this was the price paid for getting involved too deeply with their lives. He just thanked the heavens that Angel hadn't come, but she would still now be burying Casey. God, how had things gone so wrong?

* * *

"_Donatello"_

"_I'm here sensei"_

"_Don…atello…"_

"_I'm right here"_

_He fumbled with the devices beside the bed, but he knew in his heart that no amount of care could hold his father to this earth. Master Splinter knew it was his time to move on, and had accepted this fact. Unfortunately, Donatello hadn't._

"_My son…leave those devices alone…"A small chuckle escaped the tired rat. Don had never really considered his father old until now. Automatically, he obeyed his father and stopped his frantic work. The sound of breathing was becoming shallower._

_The turtle was trembling, refusing to accept what was right in front of him. His mind understood the situation, and attempted to reason with him, but his heart refused to accept that his father could be dying. No, there had to be something he could do…it couldn't end like this…it just couldn't…could it?_

_His sensei tried to speak, but was overcome by a violent bout of coughing. Finally accepting that machines could no longer make a difference to his father's health, Donatello detached the transparent tubes that had sustained his father. Gently sliding his hands under the rat's frail body, he held his father close, trying to soothe his breathing._

_Splinter shivered, then without further warning, he convulsed in his sons arms. His claws scrabbled weakly at the turtle's plastron, as he desperately tried to draw a breath. He knew his time had come, but he refused to leave until he had told his son just how much he loved him, how proud he had made him._

_Donatello was barely managing to keep his sanity in check. The rat that had rescued them as infants, taught them everything he knew, had been the only father they'd ever known, was dying in his arms. He drew his father up closer, watching the beads of water that fell from his eyes and landed on the coarse fur. His father choked as he once again tried to speak, and Donatello felt the emotional __defenses__ he had left, crumble. What was so important that his father was struggling to tell him? He carefully drew his sensei closer, mindful of his injuries and wishing to cause him as little pain as possible. His father shifted in his arms so that his snout lay close to Don's ear. He could hear his father's harsh breathing and feel the air that passed from him as he exhaled. He could also sense a weakening in the breaths. _

_His father whispered to him. Since that day, Donatello had gone over his father's last words to him over and over again in an attempt to ingrain them in his mind. Each sentence was interrupted with harsh breathing, and occasional fits of coughing. Throughout it all, Splinter had shook with the effort, and convulsed again near the end of his words. But he had stayed until he had finished telling his son the things he needed to say, no matter what the penalty. When he was finished, Don only had the time to say __four__ words to him before his pulse faded to nothing. He was thankful for that, for while it may seem like hardly any time to another, it had been all the time he needed. He had been given the time he needed to tell his father, and for that he would be eternally grateful._

"_I love you father"_

_When the old rat's pulse had finally stopped, Don buried his head in the still warm fur, and wept._


	4. Alive and Kicking

He glided back into the house, silent enough to make a spirit jealous. They lay before him. He would not fail them any further. The thought of doing so made his stomach turn.

April was closest to him, so he checked her over first. They were all recovering well, mainly because the medical resources he had left, he was able to distribute more readily now. He was also able to spare more time for each of his patients. Blessings within a curse.

Funny how the mind wandered. Sometimes toward what you'd much rather avoid; and then other times, it could go of on random tangents. Like just now. God, he could use a drink.

He moved towards Raph. The light was waltzing on the windowsill, inviting him to join the flowing dance. Turning his back on the dance floor, he studiously ignored the beckoning tendrils of sunlight. Raph was definitely improving. His breathing was stable, and his heart rate was improving. The battle seemed to have taken more of a toll on him than the fire itself. Don had treated the battle wounds as well. He had been unable to prevent himself from wincing at the sight of his brother sliced side. The blades had caught Raph in the tender area between shell and plastron. The light kept beckoning him. The wooden floorboards creaked under his weight as he stepped across them. Apart from soft breathing, the creak of the floor was the only sound to be heard.

Leo.

Don had made sure to pay exceptional attention to Leo after…after Casey…after Casey had…had passed on. He wasn't willing to lose a third member of his small family, especially not his self-sacrificing brother. Don felt a rush of guilt. Had he subconsciously chosen Leo over Casey? He had known that he wouldn't be able to save both of them. Much as he loved his brother, he hadn't been willing to give up on Casey. At least, that was how he had felt, or thought he felt.

His…father…had always told them that they – him and his brothers - had a bond that ran even deeper than blood. Had that bond chosen? Had he sentenced his friend to death? No, he couldn't believe that. He had to stop that train of thought before it crashed right into his fragile hold on reality. But…he couldn't help but wonder…_had _he chosen? Had he done what he promised himself he would never do – give up on one life to save another? His mind took another sharp turn. What if it had been two of his brothers. What if he had been forced to lose either Leo or Raph? Raph or Mikey? Mikey or Leo?

God, he couldn't continue to think like this. It would kill him. But his mind refused to let him of the train of thought – that was gathering speed with each passing minute.

_His father, His brothers, His friends, His family. Cradling Splinter in his arms; digging his father's grave; rushing back to the house as soon as he heard something – even the phantom sounds of the alarms in his head. Wrapping Casey's cooling body; removing his friend from the living-room, not wanting April to see her dead fiancé – if she woke - if she ever woke. _

His train of thought had escaped the carefully laid rails now, and was swerving left and right through his memories and innermost thoughts and feelings. _Carrying his family to safety; hearing Mikey's scream; seeing Casey die in front of him; the utter feeling of loneliness as he stood as sole sentinel over his family's health; Leo shielding him from the blast; desperately trying to revive Raph; choking in the clogging smoke; hurt; danger; terror; loss._ His mind was reeling, the floor bucked and he landed hard on his hands and knees. _Running through the thickening smoke, inside the collapsing building; the glint of a sword heading straight for him; guilt as he watched April fall, too far away to help; raining wood; burning pillars._ He screamed, head in hands, the torturing images and intense emotions dancing out of his reach each time he made a swipe at them, trying to drive them away_. Pain; misery; screams; shouts._ The floor rushed up to meet him. _Red eyes laughing cruelly._ Light danced before his eyes again. He had a sudden urge to join the dancing white fairy, the light beam travelling the floor. But he was too tired. Typical. The moment he decided to do something, he was unable to. The dust swirled before him, dressing the light. He reached out, watching the pattern the dust made as he swiped his hand through them.

Dust was so beautiful.

Dust was so calm.

Dust was so lucky.

Dust didn't feel pain.

Dust didn't feel loss.

Dust didn't lift a particle to help anyone.

Dust had it easy.

He wished he was dust. Casey and Splinter would be dust soon. They would be able to dance and swirl without a care in the world. The light was disappearing now. He wanted to beg it to stay, but found he couldn't speak. This didn't seem to bother him. He was becoming more peaceful than he had been in ages. 'Night night' he thought, as the light became a pinprick, before fading entirely…

* * *

**

* * *

His head hurt. In fact, his whole body hurt. He was accustomed to sleeping on the floor, but for some reason he was lying in an extremely awkward position. How the hell had he been able to sleep like this? Groaning as he pushed himself up, he tried to remember how he had come to faint on the floor. He couldn't. That wasn't much of a shock. He had fainted a few times now, through simple lack of sleep and care for himself. He never could remember what he thought about before he fainted. Only once had he been able to remember. Considering how stressful and insane his random thoughts had been, he decided to be thankful for the memory loss.

"Bro?"

He looked up. Mikey was watching him, and also seemed to be wondering why he was on the floor. He must have fainted on his way to check on Mikey. God, his head hurt. What had he done? Cracked it of the windowsill?

"Hey Mikey"

"You don't look to good"

Don pushed himself to his, somewhat unsteady, feet. He gave his brother a cheeky grin. Mikey seemed to be fully awake, and was talking, which was always a good sign. He just hoped Mikey wouldn't talk his ears of. He'd become too used to silence.

"Look who's talking"

That got a chuckle out of Mikey. Good, at least someone still knew how to laugh. Maybe Mikey could teach him again.

"Dust?"

"Huh"

"You were going on about dust. You shouted and collapsed – and then started going on about the pretty dust, and how you wanted to be dust."

God, how embarrassing. Why dust? He had no idea. He wasn't even sure if he wanted to know why.

Mikey was looking at him, obviously concerned.

"I'm fine, honest. I just haven't been getting as much sleep as I'd like."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he instantly regretted them. He'd just made it sound like he would rather be sleeping than caring for his family. Thankfully, Mikey didn't seem to be paying much attention to his word choice, instead gazing out of the window at the waving trees on the edge of the forest. Usually Don took this as an indication that Mikey would be asleep again soon – the fight and fire had taken a lot out of his brother, and he needed his rest – but the trees in the wind didn't seem to be having the calming effect that they had had over the past few days. Mikey seemed to be struggling to stay awake, intent on something. He hoped Mikey wasn't going to ask what he thought he was….

"Where's Casey? And Sensei?"

Hole in one. Right in the Bulls-eye. Hit the nail square on the head. Use whatever terminology you want. Mikey had just asked the question – no – _questions_ that Don had been dreading.

Where was sensei? What could he say? He's buried next to the flowerbeds, sorry you couldn't say goodbye, cup of tea?

Where's Casey? He died, because I wasn't good enough? He should have been prepared for an event like that. But,_ nooo…_and who had paid for his lack of preparation? Casey. Oh, and by the way, Leo might have died instead. Or as well as.

Why couldn't he have saved them all? He'd always been respected as the one who could fix anything and everything. But how was he expected to fix this mess? How could he even begin? He couldn't bring back the dead. Heck, he couldn't even find the words to tell his waiting brother that they _were_ dead. Right now, _he_ felt dead inside. How much difference would it make if his body died too?

Mikey was still waiting on an answer; he had to keep from crumbling to pieces for Mikey's sake. He'd been so thankful when Mikey began to awake regularly, and know where he was.

A sheer cliff of realization hit him. Mikey had been awake when he'd lost Casey. Mikey must have seen him desperately rushing between Leo and Casey. Mikey had been awake. Mikey had been awake. Shit.

"Don?"

"They…they're gone Mikey"

"Gone?"

Dead, croaked, belly-up.

"They're not coming back Mikey"

"Why?"

Christ, he'd never been so frustrated with his slow brother.

"They can't."

Silence. God, the silence was even worse than the questions.

"Are they…?"

The quiet knowledge in Mikey's voice sliced through Don like a knife. His brother wasn't slow. He knew. He just wanted it confirmed so he could dash his last hopes.

"…yeah…"

Silent tears began to slide down Mikey's cheeks. Don felt his heart tear, and minutes later, found himself kneeling on the floor with a hysterical Mikey in his arms. Mikey was almost fully recovered physically, but it was now his mental state that was in danger of collapse. His brother no longer needed the devices that Don had used. Detaching them one-handed, he attempted to soothe his shaking, sobbing sibling. Rocking Mikey gently, he whispered calming words into his brother's ear. Mikey sniffled against Don's plastron, and then let out a painful wail like a wounded animal. Don clutched his trembling brother closer. He'd expected Mikey to take it hard. They would all be hurt emotionally, some more than others, but he had never expected Mikey to take anyone's death easily. Heck, they once lost someone they were trying to protect from the purple dragons. One of the dragons had managed to get in a lucky shot with a small pistol. Mikey had cried almost non-stop for a week.

"Shhh…"

He wanted to tell his brother that it would be okay, that it would all be alright. But he knew it would never be alright again. They may manage to move on with their lives, but something would always be missing. Nothing would be able to fill that gap in his heart. Nothing. Ever.

Don draped one of Mikey's limp arms around his neck, then slowly supported him to his feet. Making sure that he took most of Mike's weight, Don led his brother to the couch. He stumbled, but retained his hold on Mikey. Blinking away the tears that had started to resurface, and blur his vision, Don lowered his brother onto the soft couch, and, grabbing a nearby blanket, settled himself onto the couch next to Mikey. Draping the blanket over his shivering brother, Don closed his eyes against the grief. Today seemed to be a day for reliving pain.

* * *

**

* * *

Mikey pressed himself, in a huddle, closer to Don, sobs racking his frame. He couldn't believe it. Don had told him, and he had worked it out for himself, but…he had persuaded himself that maybe they had gotten better, that maybe they had been healthy enough to leave the room, and he just kept waking at the wrong times to see them.

_**No**__**…**_

They _couldn't_ be. He knew. But he wouldn't accept. He had expected Casey to die at an old age – or more likely – when he was out 'busting skulls' with Raph. They all knew that Splinter might soon pass on – he was old and had lived a much longer life than any normal rat – but that didn't make his death any easier. If anything it made it worse. He might have passed on peacefully, but instead…he didn't know how his sensei had died. He could only hope it had been as painless as possible.

Don was holding him tighter now, and he decided that it wasn't only for his own benefit. He didn't protest. Being physically and emotionally so close to his gentle brother helped calm him slightly – even if Don wasn't so calm himself right now. He was skirting the inevitable; he didn't want to face their deaths. Facing a stranger's death was bad enough – he'd found that out before – but facing the deaths of his best friend and his father? Impossible. If he wanted to come out alive, that was.

Don seemed to realize his strategy.

"Mikey…" Mike studiously ignored the whispers, and his own feelings boiling away inside.

"Mike…" His brother was choking of sobs now. Mikey buried his head further into the dark of Don's cool plastron.

"It'll be worse…if you don't…accept it" A sob broke from him, muffled because of his position. He just wanted to hide from the world.

"Mikey…listen to me…please…"

No. nononononononononono….

"Mikey…"

He couldn't stand the sorrow in Don's voice. But nor could he stand facing death straight in the eye. That would be _such_ a wise move. Facing up to the Grim Reaper? I don't think so.

"Mi-mikey…say something…mikey…please…" That was it. The grief in him had simmered, and turned into fully matured rage. Maybe he was directing it at the wrong person. Maybe he wasn't. Right now, he didn't know, and quite frankly, he didn't care.

He screamed for the best part of 30 minutes. Hurling insults and words he never thought he'd use. Raph, yes, but him, no.

Most of his words formed unintelligible sentences. He was pouring out all the anger he had ever felt in his life, and it was directed towards the only person close to him, and who was able to hear his fury. Donatello.

* * *

**

* * *

Don listened to his brother's outburst in silence. He had asked for Mikey to say something, and he sure as shell was saying it. His words cut Don as deep as the wounds of Casey and Splinter's deaths. Possibly deeper. He shook from the impact of Mikey's curses.

Whoever said "Sticks and stones can break your bones but words will never hurt you" had been seriously wrong. He had fought many fights where his opponents had sticks and stones and worse. He had never received any fatal or deadly injuries from them. Mikey on the other hand…

He closed his eyes against the barrage of words, trying to shut out the pain of them, but that only seemed to infuriate Mikey further. Mikey started to twist in his arms, trying to free himself from Don's hold, each word lashing out and striking his brother with deadly accuracy.

'Stop' Don pleaded silently, 'please stop'. Mikey didn't stop. When Don didn't release him, for fear of Mikey hurting himself in his blind fit of rage, Mikey turned against Don.

Donatello knew his brother was releasing his anger and pain. He knew that his brother would never shout such things at him if it wasn't for the emotions of loss he was releasing. But that knowledge didn't soften the blows. That knowledge didn't let Don block out and ignore the things his brother screamed. And he knew them to be true. That's what made it worse. He _knew_ that if he had just been more careful then Splinter wouldn't have died. He _knew _that if he had been faster he could have saved Casey. He _knew_ that if he had just paid more attention, then he could have warned them all to get out, to get out before the bomb blew. He knew that what Mikey shouted and screamed at the top of his lungs was true, and that just made it all the worse.

Mikey was pounding on him, desperately trying to release himself from Don's grip. Don loosened his hold but didn't let go. If Mikey managed to escape into the forest then there was a chance he wouldn't find him on time. Fury could lend an awful lot of strength and speed to an injured person. But fury couldn't help someone survive the elements, and Mikey was still considerably weak. With the strength that he was pounding on Don's plastron though, Don was almost willing to rethink just how strong his little brother was at this moment.

God, it hurt. The words cut him emotionally, much deeper than any sword wound he had ever received. And the wounds stung. The holes from Splinter and Casey's death, which had only just begun to heal over, had been sliced back open again. Mikey didn't relent for a second, his words drilling ever deeper into Don.

'Stop, oh god, please stop'. He held his struggling brother, desperately wishing for the screaming fit to end.

'Stop. Please Mikey, stop', he silently begged his screaming sibling. He knew that if he was to voice his pleads; it wouldn't make much, if any, difference. Mikey was releasing his feelings in the quickest and most effective way possible. And whether he meant it or not, Don was hurting as a result.

If only he'd paid more attention. If only he had thought of every possibility. He knew that there was no way that he would have been expected to know that the enemy had a bomb. But he still felt like it was his fault. He still felt guilty. And he still felt that every word of blame that Mikey threw at him rang true.

Mikey screamed, he cursed, he shouted, he screamed some more. Finally, his struggles weakened and his curses slowed and quietened. The blows to Don's plastron stopped altogether, and Mikey's tears thickened, streaming down his face. Don didn't say a word, for fear of setting his brother of again into a red mist. Mikey whimpered. Carefully, Don pulled Mikey into a gentle embrace, feeling the sobs rack his little brother's body. Mikey's words stayed with him.

* * *

**

* * *

He was spent. He'd shouted himself hoarse, then screamed a little longer to release the last of his anger. God, it had felt good. But with the end of his shouting fit, the pain of loss had returned. He had no idea of half of the things he had screamed at the top of his lungs; it just felt good to let it all out. Don was slowly rocking him. He'd aimed all his anger – 'let loose' was probably a better term – at Donatello. The one brother who he had never felt the need to shout at, who had always been there for them all, who had never let them down, and who tore himself apart whenever he thought that he _had_ somehow failed them. Christ, what had he done?

He shivered, and Don pulled him closer, wrapping the blanket – that had been thrown aside during his fit – tighter around him, trying to stave of the cold. Don was silent, and Mikey felt the full force of what he had just done, hit home. "Don?" Mikey squeaked. Donatello didn't answer. Mikey felt his brother's tears land on his neck.

Oh God. "I…I didn't….I mean….I-I'm….I'm sorry…"

He lifted his head, attempting to catch Don's eyes. After a few seconds, Don looked down at him, and Mikey felt the immense guilt of what he had just put Don through. His brother's pain showed clearly through his eyes. What had he done?


	5. My Family, My Life

Mikey felt terrible. His brother had risked everything to get everyone out, and then had risked his own life yet again when he had returned for Mikey. And how had Mikey repaid him?

Shouting and bawling at the top of his lungs – blaming Don for everything.

Donatello still hadn't said a word.

Mikey shook, wondering what he could do to take back what he had just said and done. His mind drew a blank.

Donatello was silent. He was refusing to meet Mikey's gaze.

_Oh God, oh god, oh god…_

"Don? I…I didn't mean…I didn't…Donnie? Please…I'm sorry bro…I-I didn't mean it…Are you mad at me?"

Donatello looked down at him, shocked. "I'm not mad…"

_Words. Words were good. At least his brother was talking to him. But he wasn't mad. Had he expected Donnie to be mad? Don hardly ever went mad. But if he wasn't mad at Mikey…then he was mad at himself. That wasn't what he wanted. And hurt__,__ Don was obviously hurt. What could he do now?_

"Mikey?"

He looked up at his brother. _Please don't be mad, please don't be hurt._

"Yeah"

"Did…did you mean what you said?"

"No – I – I just got mad. You know I would never – I mean, I didn't…"

"But you were right."

"What? NO! No, Don – if you hadn't – you saved us, Don – you…"

"…didn't save everyone…"

"It wasn't your fault – I know you would never – "

"How do you know that, Mikey?"

"Sorry?"

"How do you know that there wasn't anything more that I could have done?"

He didn't have an answer to that. In the end, he simply settled for;

"Because you would have done it."

The light danced across the floor. Don's eyes followed the beam. He sighed.

To Mikey, that sigh sounded like the passing wind. Nothing could completely stop it, but large obstacles could slow it, and dampen the winds spirit. His brother had come across large obstacles – big boulders that blocked his path. His spirit was softened; Mikey wouldn't let it die.

"Bro?" He shifted himself closer to Don, wrapping his arms around him.

Don stiffened at the unexpected hug, before relaxing and returning the gesture. Mikey felt that Don was holding him a little harder than necessary; he didn't complain.

Mikey knew his brother would never fully forgive himself; he just hoped his outburst hadn't made things worse. They were all to blame to a certain extent – no one deserved the full blame.

Neither brother released the other. They both needed to be held and comforted. A noise shattered the silence, and Mikey jumped back with a yelp.

"What the shell is _that_?"

Don sped of the couch, and Mikey saw him next to Leo. The angle prevented him from seeing exactly what Don was doing, but a few minutes later, silence descended once again.

Don stayed a little longer next to Leo, before moving across the room to check on April and Raph.

Mikey watched his brother with interest. The concentration that Don showed when fixing the battleshell or wrapping a new battle wound, that one of them had managed to pick up on a training run, always interested Mikey –though he'd never admit it. Watching the care that Don showed, Mikey felt that he had never been prouder of his amazing brother.

Don began to walk back towards the couch. Mikey put on a small smile.

"See?"

"Huh?"

"I'm guessing that sound was bad, right?"

"Um…yes" answered Don, not sure where his brother was going with this. "It meant I had to help Leo"

"And if you hadn't?"

Don wondered if Mikey even remembered what had happened when Casey died.

Mikey kept pressing. "What would have happened?"

_God, I don't want to answer that._

Sinking onto the couch, Don raised an eye ridge at his brother.

"I'm sure you know the answer" _Don't make me say it._

"So…"

"So?"

"So…you're doing everything you can. Heck, you've got a bloody alarm for christ's sake, just so's you know when to help!"

_Ah. He wanted to stop the guilt trip. Too late._

Mikey shifted, then gave a sharp cry, clutching his left shoulder.

"You know…just because you are awake, doesn't mean you're suddenly, miraculously, all better."

Mikey groaned in response.

Don gently pulled Mikey's hand away, running a critical eye and hand over the shoulder. Mikey winced.

"You should get some more sleep, you still look exhausted."

"Bet I don't look as tired as you" Mikey countered.

Don frowned at him.

"Okay, okay"

Mikey lay down on the couch, Don covering him with the blanket.

"I'll get some sleep when I can"

"Or when you faint on the floor?"

"Yeah, 'or when I faint on the floor'. Now go to sleep"

Mikey grinned, closing his eyes. Sighing, Don headed for the kitchen. _Time for that glass of water. And some coffee wouldn't hurt._

"Don?"

Sighing, Don's shoulders slumped, and he slowly turned to face Mikey again.

"Yeah?"

"Where…where's Splinter? I mean…you know…"

Don closed his eyes, thinking about the waving grass. "Beside the flowerbeds. I thought he'd like it there. He always did like flowers."

Mikey nodded, tears beginning to cloud his eyes again. "Yeah...I think he'd like that."

"What about Casey?"

"His family deserve the burial rights Mikey"

"Oh…right…of course"

_Don't push farther._ Mikey stayed quiet.

"You okay?"

"Yeah…yeah. I…sleep, right?"

Don smiled softly. "Right. Sleep."

He watched Mikey's eyes close, and waited until he could hear the quiet snores. His eyes roving the room, he watched each of his family.

April.

Raph.

Leo.

Mikey.

His family.

His life.

Turning on his heels, he headed for the kitchen. Shell, he needed a drink. And then he would continue his vigil over them. For as long as it took. Forever and a day if need be.

His family.

His life.


End file.
